


First Impressions

by museaway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pride and Prejudice References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they met at the Roadhouse, during Sam's law school graduation party, Dean’s first impression of Castiel Novak was that it would take a grand jury to dislodge the stick up his ass. </p><p><em>A tiny</em> Pride & Prejudice <em>inspired AU.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> A pocked-sized AU inspired by Pride and Prejudice and originally conceived as a 5-and-1: Five times (well...4.5 times) Dean thought he despised Castiel Novak and the one time he didn’t. 
> 
> Beta read by Lehlared and consulting_cas, who assisted on the Sabriel front. Thank you to carouselcycles for her knowledge on careers in law, to twitter for insight into Matt Cohen in a suit, to tumblr for insisting this exist in the first place, and to outpastthemoat for the title! 
> 
> **Important:** This fic is primarily Dean/Castiel but contains brief Dean/Michael and strong background Gabe  & Sam friendship that can be read as Sabriel. I stuck the Roadhouse in Lawrence For Reasons. Please handwave if that bothers you.

When they met at the Roadhouse, during Sam's law school graduation party, Dean’s first impression of Castiel Novak was that it would take a grand jury to dislodge the stick up his ass.

Castiel lingered on the fringe of the bar, arms folded tightly across his chest and his mouth thin—the dark cloud in an otherwise clear sky. He had an unorthodox appeal: five o'clock shadow on a face that could’ve been cut from marble, hair mussed like a wet dog in from the rain. A suit beneath his rumpled overcoat. He’d arrived with his brother Gabriel, who ditched him for a glass of Ellen's punch and the dance floor, where Sam was making a flailing ass out of himself jumping around to a pop song.

Although they both lived in Lawrence, the Winchester and Novak families hadn't come into contact until Gabriel and Sam had met at Stanford law and despite their age difference—Gabriel had decided to get his law degree at 38 after a successful candy venture—formed a quick, somewhat confusing friendship based on tequila and mutual pranks. The couple times Dean had visited Sam at school, Gabriel had demonstrated a lack of personal boundaries: pinching food from Dean’s plate, practically sitting on Sam’s lap arguing over the pizza menu. Sam blamed it on his upbringing. The late patriarch of the Novak family had been a strict man who had sheltered them during childhood, and had left them to master socialization via trial and error.

“You think Gabe’s bad, you should see his brother,” Sam had confided when Dean complained that Gabe had brushed his teeth while Dean was in the shower (and worse, struck up a conversation through the whisper-thin curtain).

Dean had expected Gabriel’s brother to be, well, like _Gabriel_. If they hadn't entered together, Dean wouldn't have even suspected they were relations. Looks aside, everything about them with different, down to their body language. While Gabriel gestured with his hands and hugged everyone Sam introduced him to, Castiel kept to himself and avoided the dance floor. He’d shucked the overcoat and was out of place in a dark suit and crisp, blue tie. When it was clear he didn’t intend to socialize, Dean made his way across the room.

“I don't drink beer,” Castiel said, eyeing Dean’s offer, when a normal person might have said “ _no, thank you_ ” or “ _hello_.”

“Suit yourself, pal.” Dean, slightly injured by the unjustified hostility, drank the beer himself. “So, you're Gabriel's brother?”

Castiel sighed the way Dean did when he was stuck in line at the DMV. “Yes.”

“What do you do?” Dean said, attempting conversation like a civil human being, even though everyone in the room knew damn well what Castiel Novak did for a living—the Novak name opened doors. His face was constantly splashed across the local paper and he was Sam’s new boss. Dean Winchester could be many things, but no one could accuse him of being a bad host or a bad brother. This was Sammy’s night, after all.

“I'm a lawyer,” Castiel said flatly.

Dean waited the polite amount of time for Castiel to reciprocate the question, and when he didn’t, Dean continued the conversation himself.

“Me?” he said with feigned flattery. “Sweet of you to ask. I'm a mechanic, but I bartend here weekends for extra cash. Stanford’s not cheap. My old man lucked out with my GED.”

He took a long pull of his beer and cleaned his mouth on the cuff of the rented monkey suit he’d put on because Sam had levelled him with puppy eyes, and Dean hadn’t ever been able to say no to him. Sam’s hair flopped as he fumbled his way through a line dance with Gabriel on his heels.

Castiel inhaled a weary breath and said nothing.

“You going out there?” Dean asked.

“No.”

Castiel took out his phone and squinted at something he read. Dean grinned like he wasn’t offended by Castiel’s blatantly rude behavior, satisfied he’d made an effort to be cordial, and went to find Jo. A few shots later and he didn’t care about Gabriel Novak’s successful, attractive, asshole brother.

He gave a toast to the graduating class, making sure to embarrass Sam twice—the giant moose actually blushed—and went to the bar to settle the tab. Ellen would let them crash in her living room, so he ordered a whiskey neat and bobbed his head to the music.

“What’s with the wallflower routine, bro? No one here worth your time?”

Dean raised his head to see the Novak brothers standing a few feet away. Castiel’s back was to him. His response, if he gave one, was nonverbal.

“What about Dean, Sam’s brother?” Gabriel said. “I saw you talking to him. He’s not hard on the eyes, good with his hands.”

“I don't need your help getting a date, Gabriel, not in a dive bar, and certainly not with a high-school dropout who thinks light beer is acceptable for a toast.”

Dean ducked his chin to hide the sear in his cheeks and hoped Gabriel hadn’t noticed him watching.

“It's got fewer calories,” Gabriel sniffed.

“I promised to come with you tonight, and I fulfilled my promise,” Castiel said. “I'm going back to the house.”

“I'll see you at brunch,” Gabriel yelled over the jukebox.

Castiel Novak brushed past Dean, who refrained from sticking a foot out to trip him only out of respect for Sam, and instead made a gun with his thumb and forefinger. He aimed it at Castiel and winked.

“You have a good night,” he called. Castiel, stony-faced, stormed out.

 

* * *

 

 

Many months later, Dean locked eyes with a debonair, painfully handsome man across the cut-glass punch bowl at the Novak family Christmas party. Dean had been left on his own almost since they arrived and Gabe had whisked Sam off to meet his entire family. Dean had spent the evening drinking his way through the open bar. His brain, sluggish from the champagne toast a few minutes ago, was slow to process the recognition.

“Mike?”

Michael Milton was charismatic, sharp-witted, hot as _sin_ , and could throw back shots like nobody's business. He came to the Roadhouse occasionally when Dean tended bar, and they’d had a few steamy fumbles in his back seat.

“Dean!” Michael favored him with a blinding smile. “I didn't know you'd be here.”

The last time they'd seen each other was a couple weeks ago for karaoke Thursday. Dean had been meaning to call him ever since, though Michael had said _he_ would call—he’d probably been busy with work. That had to be why he was at this party. Dean had figured out that Michael was a partner at another firm in town, a contemporary to everyone here—unlike Dean, Gabriel Novak’s friend Sam’s blue collar big brother who’d been invited as a technicality. Fuck ‘em. Dean slathered on a grin and dipped his cup straight into the punch bowl.

“My kid brother's friends with Gabe. I'm just here for the liquor.”

Michael sidled up next to him and gave Dean an appreciative glance. “You look good in a suit.”

Dean elbowed him in the ribs. “Don't objectify me,” he said, and like that, the party that _should_ have been a drag became a party Dean Winchester was delighted to attend.

Michael hung on him all evening, fetching him drink refills and feeding him appetizers as they went past on silver trays. Dean memorized the texture of Michael's fingertips against his tongue. He even agreed to let Michael drive him home and told Sam to take the Impala, because it turned out he didn't mind brushing shoulders with fancy lawyers so long as those fancy lawyers weren’t dicks.

As if to prove the point, Dick Lawyer Number One glowered at Dean from his position next to the roaring stone fireplace. The Novak mansion was oddly homey on the inside, not stuffy or cold the way Dean had expected it to be, in contrast to the frigid look Castiel was giving him now.

“Do you know Castiel?” Dean asked Michael, and when Michael nodded, Dean added in a whisper, “Then do you know what crawled up his ass and died?” From the way Michael hesitated, then bit his grin and dragged Dean into a spare bedroom by his shirt cuff, Dean suspected he hadn't been as quiet as he’d thought.

“How well do _you_ know him?” Michael asked, loosening his tie.

“Not real well,” Dean told him. “We met earlier this summer and he was a fucking jackass.”

That description seemed to amuse Michael, who patted the bed and clasped his hands on his knees. Dean sat down. The mattress was comfortable. It probably cost more than Dean made in a year.

“Castiel’s my step brother,” Michael explained. “We used to be very close.”

“Used to be?” The room tilted. Or maybe Dean was tilting his head. He concentrated on Michael’s hands, how pale they were against his tux, the way they hung inert between his legs.

“Castiel's father? My step dad? Promised me a partnership in the firm, but after he died, Castiel made sure I didn't get it.”

“Why?”

“He's jealous.” Michael snorted. “His dad liked me more. He made sure to give a spot to his cousin, but he voted against me.”

“That sucks,” Dean said, burning with righteous anger on Michael’s behalf. “What did you do?”

“I work for his older brother, Lucifer. There was some kind of spat, a long time ago between him and his dad, and he left. Started his own firm. Anyway, the only reason I’m telling you this is because I heard your brother was interested in an associate’s position, and, well...there are only so many slots. I wouldn’t put it past Castiel to give one to Gabe on principle and leave your brother in the cold.”

“You think he’ll play favorites.”

“Let me put it this way. The ‘N’ in their logo might as well stand for nepotism.”

“I get it to a degree; family’s important.” Dean hiccuped. “Hell, if it were up to me, I’d give Sammy a job just cause he’s my brother.”

“And if he weren't your blood relative?”

Michael had moved a hand to Dean's thigh and Dean wet his lips in anticipation. “Doesn't matter,” he said, sliding a finger beneath Michael’s collar. Merry fuckin’ Christmas.

 

They left the bedroom an hour later, shirts untucked and Dean’s tie...somewhere. He caught his reflection in a dessert tray. Debauched summed it up. Michael had disappeared and, left to his own devices, Dean popped a few truffles in his mouth, moaning around the rich flavor. An iron grip claimed his shoulder and steered him out onto a balcony. The winter air sent a chill through him and Dean turned, expecting that Michael had stolen him for round two, only to see Castiel, who stared at him mulishly.

“The hell do _you_ want?” Dean slurred, too drunk to care that he was being rude to Sam’s employer. But if Castiel was offended, it didn’t show. He spoke quietly next to Dean’s ear.

“To make sure you're alright. You've been drinking heavily all evening and I didn't know where you'd gone.”

“So?”

“I want to make certain I don't need to drive you to the hospital.”

“You're hilarious,” Dean said and promptly vomited into a potted evergreen strung with white Christmas lights.

Castiel sighed. The door whooshed closed and Dean was left alone. Fantastic. Was he that much of an embarrassment that Castiel freakin’ Novak had herded him outside and left him to die a slow, lonely death of hypothermia rather than allow Dean to be seen at his family’s party?

But the door opened again. Castiel pressed a glass of club soda into his hands and held onto Dean’s arm to steady him. The soda chased the burn from Dean’s throat and he wiped his mouth on a sleeve. “Thanks.”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but the door swung wide and Michael stood in a halo of light from the party inside.

“You ready? I'll take you home,” he said, his eyes flicking up to the person standing at Dean's elbow. “Castiel,” he said stiffly. Castiel’s tone was just as hard.

“Hello, Michael.”

Even in his drunken state, Dean recalled fragments of what Michael had told him in the bedroom and gave back the glass, along with a bit of gratitude he’d felt toward Castiel for his kindness.

“See ya,” he said, ignoring the way Castiel said his name, how it had curled unwanted from his lips like smoke.

 

* * *

 

Sam tried to hide his disappointment when Castiel dismissed him from Novak & Novak at his eight-month review, despite his excellent performance at the firm. But Dean knew something was wrong the instant Sam got home and threw himself onto the couch, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“I knew going in that they couldn’t keep all of us,” he sighed.

“What about Gabe?” Dean asked.

“He’s still there. He said he didn’t know before today, but I don’t know if I believe him. Castiel’s his _brother_.”

“You don't want to work with those assholes anyway, Sammy,” Dean consoled him, and though Sam frowned and readily agreed, Dean also knew he was lying.

Novak & Novak was the most prestigious firm in the city. Sam worshipped Castiel and had hitched himself to that wagon even before he’d gone off to Stanford, and the loss was crushing. But he submitted his resume to every law practice hiring in the state and was quickly snatched up by Lucifer Novak’s firm. Michael called personally to congratulate him.

Two months in and Sam seemed to like the job well enough, although the hours were brutal. Sam didn’t hang out with Gabe anymore and regularly canceled his and Dean’s weekly brothers-night-out. He usually gave Dean advanced notice, but tonight, Dean was alone at the Roadhouse, beer in hand and an order of wings on the way, when he got the text saying that Sam was held up at the office—the pit, Dean called it. He wouldn’t be able to make it after all.

It was too late to cancel the order, even though Dean would’ve rather kept the $10, so he waited for it to arrive and drummed his fingers idly on the bar in time with the music. Maybe he ought to pick someone up. It’d been awhile since he’d seen any action—not since the holidays—and he was wound up. He thought of calling Michael, but it would be shitty if Dean fooled around with Sam’s superior while Sam worked his ass off.

The wings came out steaming. Jo laughed when Dean burned his fingers on one, so he sent her to the back for an extra cup of dipping sauce and blue cheese.

“Dean?”

It was just like Castiel Novak to catch Dean with his mouth stuffed like a chipmunk, wing sauce smeared around his lips.

“Cas—” Dean began, coughing on hot sauce. He pounded a fist against his chest until he could speak again. “Castiel. Hey.”

Castiel did a funny thing: he smiled fleetingly. “How are you?” he asked.

“Just fine. What are you doing in this dive?”

“I enjoy their burgers. My cousin and I have a table.” Castiel cleared his throat and angled his head in that direction. A blond man in a black v-neck pointed to an empty chair. “I thought, if you were alone, that you might like to sit with us.”

Sitting at the same table as Castiel Novak was easily the last thing on earth Dean wanted, but Dean didn’t immediately say “no.” Castiel patiently awaited his answer, and on his face was none of the haughtiness he’d displayed at their first meeting. Between with the uncomfortable press of bodies at the bar and the ghost of his compassion at the holiday party, it was a choice of the lesser of two evils. Castiel would probably pay for Dean’s next round—shit, he might pick up the whole check. But his words from the night they met echoed in Dean’s memory.

“I dunno, Cas,” he muttered. “I’m drinking light beer, and I know how you feel about that.”

Castiel looked pained. “Please,” he said. Dean held his gaze for an uncomfortable beat. Cas’s eyes cast the deciding vote: a haunting, stormy blue that momentarily stole Dean’s breath. In spite of his dislike, he picked up his plate.

Castiel's cousin Balthazar had grown up in England and was, as far as Dean could tell, Castiel's exact opposite in about every sense. Where Castiel was reserved and proper, Balthazar was gloriously boorish, loud and wonderful. He and Dean destroyed two more orders of wings and a pitcher of beer—Castiel’s treat—and Balthazar picked Dean’s brain about a restoration he was planning on a ‘65 Cobra. Castiel quietly ate a burger while he sipped a gin and tonic.

“Would you be interested in the job?” Balthazar asked.

Dean sputtered and wiped sauce from his hands. “You want me to work on your car?”

“Cassie was telling me that you're highly skilled, the best in the area. You drive a classic Impala that you rebuilt yourself, is that right?”

Dean had no idea how Castiel knew that, unless he’d asked around, because he wasn’t a customer, and it sure as hell hadn’t come up in the disastrous conversation at the Roadhouse or at Christmas. Castiel was reading the back of a Splenda packet as though it were a _New York Times_ bestseller and before Dean could ask about the car, excused himself from the table, citing the bathroom.

“My, you _have_ got him flustered,” Balthazar commented. “How did you meet him, anyway?”

“My brother went to law school with Gabe, and he worked for Castiel last year.”

“Is that Sam?” Balthazar asked and Dean nodded, surprised. “I met him at the house a few times—he mentioned he had a brother. Gabriel has been subdued since he stopped coming around. He was very polite.”

“Yeah, he takes after our mom.”

“I heard about your parents, then. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Balthazar sat back in his chair. “I have to ask...what did you think of Cassie when you met him? We've known each other since we were children—he's the closest I have to a brother—and I've always found it curious the way people react to him.”

Dean saw no reason to lie. Balthazar was doubtless aware of his cousin’s effect on people, and Dean suspected he could easily ferret out bullshit. “Honestly, I thought he was an asshole.”

“When was this?”

“Last summer at Sam's graduation. I can't afford much, but I did what I could for him. Rented out this place.” Dean motioned to the room around them. “Your cousin flat-out refused the beer I brought him and then I overheard him talking to Gabe. He made a dig about my lack of education, like he knows a fucking thing about me. Kind of hard to go to college when you're saving every dime so your kid brother can eat.”

Balthazar looked shell-shocked and took a moment to collect his words. “I'm sure you heard what you said you did, Dean, but believe me when I say that Castiel is the last person who would judge you based on your means.”

Dean snorted. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry that was your first impression of him. I’m sure he wishes he could take it back.”

“Well, he can’t.”

“No, he can’t,” Balthazar agreed on a sigh. “It’s a shame you don’t know him better. You see, I believe he’s terribly unhappy. He doesn't want the job he's in, but now that his father is gone, he refuses to leave the firm, lest it fall apart.” Balthazar’s voice grew quiet and he leaned into Dean’s personal space. “You know, he recently let someone go because he didn't want them making the same mistake he had with regards to his career.”

Balthazar spoke carefully, and Dean chilled at the realization that Balthazar was talking about Sam.

“How the hell is that his call?” he asked.

“He's the senior partner. Technically, I have the same power he does, but I have no interest in leadership.”

“Or work,” Castiel said, rejoining them. “I haven't seen you in the office in months.”

“I'm on sabbatical,” Balthazar said, stretching and sitting back in his chair. “Besides, you run everything so well without me. Dean was just telling me how the two of you met. Apparently you made _quite_ the impression.”

“I don't easily converse with strangers,” Castiel mumbled. “My people skills are—”

“Appalling,” Balthazar supplied. “It’s a miracle you perform well in front of a jury.”

Castiel ignored him and turned his attention to Dean. “How is your brother?” His fingers were an unexpected, featherlight weight on Dean’s forearm.

“They’re working him hard.” Dean shook off Castiel’s hand. “Michael says he's doing awesome, though.”

Both Balthazar and Castiel stiffened at the mention.

“Sam's with _Lucifer’s_ firm?” Castiel asked, tone carefully neutral.

“Yeah,” Dean snorted. “It’s not like you gave him much of a choice when you fired him.”

“I see,” Castiel said. His jaw clicked closed, and the scowl, the one he’d worn the night they met, slid into place. Dean took it as his signal to leave. He dropped $40 on the table to cover his part of the tab and stood up—rent or not, no way was he letting this asshole pay for him after that.

“Well, I’m heading out. Balthazar.” He extended a hand. “Call me if you decide you want to move forward on that restoration.”

“I will, Dean, thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Dean swallowed and forced himself to make eye contact. “Cas.”

He hightailed it out of there, anger surging under his skin. Castiel had knowingly interfered with Sam’s future and had the audacity to be upset that Sam had gone to a competitor? Dean needed to take a wrench to something big right now, or he was going to implode.

Castiel caught up with him in the parking lot. Running had tousled his hair and left his cheeks faintly pink. “Your phone. You left it on the table,” he said, breathless. He held it out and passed Dean the $40. “Keep your money--I know you need it. I’ll take care of the check.”

His condescension left Dean so ashamed, so infuriated, that he saw hellfire.

“I don’t need your fucking charity.” He whipped the money at Castiel and peeled out of the parking lot without looking back.

 

* * *

 

 

Considering how they’d parted last, Dean was shocked when Castiel strode into Singer Auto, at five minutes to closing on the second of May, and asked to speak with him. Grease stuck to Dean's fingers and had stained his blue coveralls across the knees and chest, where he’d wiped his hands. He thrust one at Castiel as a test, but to his credit, Castiel didn’t flinch. He folded Dean’s hand within both of his and, with a shy smile, lowered his eyes.

“I…” Castiel began, his face coloring. “What are you doing for dinner?”

If Dean had been challenged to predict what Castiel had been about to ask, he wouldn’t have come close. His eyes bugged out.

“Huh?”

“I just settled a case I’ve been working on for two years, and I want to celebrate. I was hoping you’d accompany me.”

“To dinner?”

“Yes, anywhere you’d like.”

Dean was short on groceries and cash. He’d missed lunch and could use a hot meal, but he despised Castiel and would rather eat Rice Krispies with water for a month than give Castiel the pleasure of his company. Castiel was still holding his hand.

Dean took it back. “Why the hell would I get dinner with you?” he asked.

“Well, I’d hoped—” Castiel clamped his mouth shut as Bobby left for the night, glaring at the interruption.

“You okay to lock up, son?” Bobby asked Dean. He gave Castiel a wary once-over.

“Yeah, Bobby, I got it. Night,” Dean assured him, but once Bobby had gone, he folded his arms across his chest and turned back to Castiel. “You’d hoped what?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were about to explain why you think I'd go out with you.”

“Because I like you,” Castiel said frankly. “I like you a great deal, and I’d hoped you liked me in return.”

“ _Like_ me?”

“My word choice isn't ideal,” Castiel admitted, raking a hand through his hair. “I feel a profound connection to you. I have, since the day we met.”

“The day you badmouthed me to your brother at a party I was throwing? _That_ day?”

“Please let me explain.”

“Something about you could do better than a grease monkey with a GED. Ring any bells?”

“Dean.” Castiel looked mortified. He hung his head. “What you heard was the product of—no, there’s no excuse for it. What I said was unforgivable. I didn't know your circumstances at the time, just that Gabriel wouldn't stop pushing me toward you. I assumed, stupidly, that you placed little value on education, and I judged you based on appearances. I'm disgusted by my behavior. What you've done for your brother, the sacrifices you've made for him—you’re a good man, Dean, and I would be honored if you would join me.”

Dean backed away, until he was out of Castiel’s reach. “You’re a piece of work. You think you can stroll in here, say a few nice things, and I’ll eat out of your hand? Even if I did forgive you, nothing you say can make up for what you did to Sam. You know he's talked about working for your firm for years? He was fuckin’ stoked when he got that position, and you decided for him that he'd be better off in another area of law. What the hell gives you the right?”

“He would’ve hated it,” Castiel implored. “He’s an excellent attorney. I arranged an interview for him with—”

“You know what? Save it, ‘cause I honestly don’t care. Money might not mean anything to you, but we weren’t all born with silver spoons in our mouths. Sam’s the most important person in the world to me and you fucked him over. And even if you hadn’t, that doesn’t excuse what you did to Michael. So I don’t give a rat’s ass how much you like me, or how ‘profound’ you think this thing is between us, ‘cause let me explain something to you: there is no ‘us.’ There’s never gonna be an ‘us.’ Got it? Now if you don’t mind, I’ve gotta lock up.”

Castiel looked stricken. He remained unspeaking for several moments, wavering where he stood.

“I apologize for taking up so much of your time,” he croaked and was gone in the swish of his overcoat.

And Dean, for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint, wanted to punch something.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, it was raining, and Dean enjoyed a rare Sunday breakfast with Sam, who cradled his latte as though a barista had crafted it instead of Mr. Coffee.

“Are you still hungry? I can whip up another batch,” Dean said, glancing to the box of pancake mix on the counter. Sam shook his head.

“You eat,” he said. “You look thin.”

“Fuck you, I do not,” Dean snapped but took a bite to satisfy him.

“Hey.” Sam leaned over the table and laced his hands together. “I want to ask you something, but I'm afraid it might piss you off.”

“Sam, you can ask me anything. You know that.”

“How are we for money?”

Except that. “We're fine,” Dean grunted and dug at the corner of his eye. “Why are you asking?”

“I got a call from a lawyer in Topeka—Charlie Bradbury. She said she's good friends with Castiel and he asked her to reach out to me about a job.”

Dean bristled at the mention of Castiel’s name. “You _have_ a job,” he said, sounding far too much like his old man for his liking. What would their mom have done in this situation? If Sam was asking about money, it meant he was already considering taking a job that paid less than he was currently making, which made Dean wonder, “Is there something wrong where you are now?”

Sam shook his head slowly. “Not exactly. It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“Well…” Sam’s head snapped up. “You can’t say a word about this to anyone, ever.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, but Sam caught his arm.

“No, swear to me, Dean. This can’t get out, not through me.”

“I swear, whatever.” Dean wrenched his arm from Sam’s grip. “What’s going on?”

“I think Michael and Lucifer fabricate evidence.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s one hell of an accusation.”

“And I can't prove it,” Sam continued, holding up his hands. “I know you like him, but I’ve seen some stuff at the office, and after what Gabe told me about what happened between Castiel and Michael, it made me wonder, you know?”

An uneasy sensation crept up Dean’s spine. “What did Gabe tell you?”

“That Castiel suspected Michael of tampering with evidence. They couldn't prove that Michael did anything, but when he came up for partner, Castiel voted against him and Michael walked out. Spread a bunch of rumors, Gabe said, walked with a quarter of the support staff and half the attorneys. Castiel spent the last four years rebuilding the practice. That's why I was so excited to work with them, there’s a lot of opportunity for growth but... I’m starting to think Cas was right.”

“What do you mean?”

“He asked if corporate law was what I wanted, _really_ wanted, and I guess I wasn’t convincing enough.” Sam got up to refill his coffee. “Did you know he wanted to practice environmental law? Save the bees and whatnot? Pro bono stuff. But his father wouldn’t let him.”

“Yeah, his...his cousin kind of mentioned it.”

Sam looked Dean in the eye. “Would you be mad if I took this other job? Assuming she even offers it to me. She wants to talk again this week.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because the pay is lower—like, a _lot_ lower. There’s just two attorneys right now; I’d be the third. It will take me longer to pay you back and I'll have to get an apartment.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

“Yes I do, Dean. You gave up so much for me after mom and dad died—”

Dean cut him off. “Will this other job make you happy?”

“Yeah,” Sam said after a pause. “Yeah, I think it will.”

Bobby would give Dean extra hours, if he needed them, and Ellen was always after him to take a weeknight shift. Whatever Sam needed, Dean would find a way to get it. “Take the job,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 

The information about what had actually happened between Castiel and Michael unsettled Dean, especially that he'd fallen so readily for Michael’s lies and that Castiel, reeling from the sting of Dean's rejection, had been too proud to defend himself. Dean had misjudged him. And now that he realized it, he couldn't get Castiel or the words he'd spoken to Dean in the shop out of his head.

Eight weeks later, Sam called from Topeka to tell Dean about his first week at the new firm, and his voice carried so much enthusiasm that Dean found himself standing outside the dry cleaners, one of Sam's suits over his shoulder, smiling at the ground. “Sam, that's great,” he said. “I'm real proud of you.”

“Charlie's taking me out for beers. I'll talk to you later, Dean. I love you.”

“You too,” Dean said, chest tight, and he nearly walked into a man exiting the dry cleaners. “Gabe.”

“Dean-o.” Gabriel gave him an echo of his typically familiar, sunny grin. “How’s Samifer liking his new digs?”

“Samifer?”

Gabriel chuckled. “It’s what we called him when he went darkside.”

“He's good. He’s living in Topeka.” Dean registered the disappointment in Gabriel’s eyes and added, “You should call him. He misses you.”

He’d never seen Gabriel flustered before and was surprised how moved he looked. Gabriel stared down the block for several seconds and wiped his eyes, but he quickly masked his emotions and turned back with a smirk. “Got any plans for tonight?”

“Not really,” Dean said, anticipating an evening of reruns and leftover pizza.

“Good.” Gabriel slipped an arm around his back. “I'm meeting my family for dinner and I know you're hungry.”

“Is Cas going to be there?”

“Cas?” Gabriel snorted. “Yes, _Cas_ , is going to be there. I didn't realize you two were so close.”

“Yeah, we…” With a shaky hand, Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I haven't seen him in a while.”

“Sounds like it's your lucky day.”

They met up with Castiel and Balthazar at a diner renowned for its pie. Balthazar jumped up when he saw Dean and enthusiastically shook his hand.

“Dean,” Castiel said, eyes wide and round and hopeful. “Hello.”

Gabriel shoved in with Balthazar on his side of the booth and that left Dean tableside, pulling off his jacket as Castiel processed that Dean was going to _sit_ with them. He slid over so quickly the motion rattled the water glasses. Gabriel and Balthazar busied themselves snickering about something on the menu, so Dean leaned in to speak with Castiel quietly, so they wouldn't overhear.

“I wanted to thank you, for what you did for Sam. He sounds real happy.”

“It was as much for you as it was for him,” Castiel murmured.

“And I'm sorry about Michael,” Dean continued. “He told me…”

“I can guess what he said.”

Dean sniffed and didn’t elaborate. “So, are we...are we okay?”

Castiel's smile was tainted with melancholy. “Of course, Dean.” He withdrew, huddling close to the window, but Dean lay a hand on the bench seat between them.

“Look. I know my timing kind of sucks, but what’re you doing tomorrow night?”

“I have a work function,” Castiel said, squinting. “Why?”

“What about tonight?”

“I don't have standing plans.”

“Then I got a real important question for you.”

Nodding, Castiel licked his lips and leaned forward intently.

“Theatrical release or extended edition of _Lord of the Rings_?”

“I—I've never seen them,” Castiel admitted.

“We gotta fix that,” Dean said seriously. “We could watch the first one tonight.”

“In that case, the extended version would be preferable. When I enjoy something, I want it to last.”

Dean's face grew warm and his heart beat in his throat. Tentatively, he grazed the top of Castiel’s hand with his knuckles. “You wanna come by after this?”

Like that, Castiel’s mouth curved into a beatific smile. It illuminated his face and chased the fog of sadness from his eyes. “What can I bring?” he asked.

“Rubbers,” Balthazar offered.

“And lube,” Gabriel said.

“Oh, definitely,” Balthazar agreed. “You can never have enough lubricant.”

Dean flushed as red as the cherry pie he split with Castiel, its cloyingly sweet almond flavor still lingering on Cas’s lips when he knocked on Dean’s apartment door an hour later.

 

* * *

 

 

_**Some time after** _

Dean stood on a balcony at the Novak estate in blue jeans and his favorite plaid shirt, barefoot, drinking Budweiser from a can. Cas was due home soon. He'd been out of town for a speaking engagement and Dean was going stir-crazy by himself in the house, so he'd put in extra hours working on Balthazar’s Cobra and had the sore muscles to show for it.

He didn't hear Cas’s car in the driveway because Cas had unfortunately upgraded to a hybrid when he’d quit to start his own practice. But it was fuel efficient. The new office wasn't as glamorous as the penthouse suite had been, and his name was no longer constantly in the paper—that duty fell to Balthazar, who flourished in the limelight. And although Cas was often tired and frustrated, he was so much happier working for himself that Dean couldn’t complain, especially since Cas opening his own office meant Sam had moved back home to work for him, with Charlie Bradbury in tow.

She’d taken over Dean’s lease, which left Sam without a home. It had taken some convincing—Dean wouldn’t accept charity—but Cas eventually got him to admit that the most economical housing solution was for all of them to live at the estate, since the house had plenty of empty bedrooms, one of which now belonged to Sam. Gabriel was, predictably, ecstatic.

Cas found Dean outside, slipping into his now familiar place at Dean's back to rest his forehead between his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” Dean asked. Cas nodded and Dean turned in his arms so Cas could kiss him. “You look beat.” He trailed a thumb over the shadow beneath Cas’s eye. “Want to lie down?”

“I told Charlie to come for dinner, and Sam will be home soon.”

“I know. Charlie’s gonna give us an hour, and Gabe will distract Sam. Come lie down with me.”

Twenty minutes later, a smile had replaced the weariness on Cas’s face. He stroked Dean’s hair affectionately. Dean grinned from between Cas’s legs and planted a wet kiss to his inner thigh. “Better?”

“Infinitely.”

“I’m good with my hands,” Dean said, one of their favorite jokes, and wiped his fingers on the sheets. He draped himself across Cas’s chest and set the alarm on his phone. They dozed on and off for a half hour.

Cas lazily trailed his fingers up the ladder of Dean’s spine. “Would you ever want to get married?” he asked, in the same tone he would use to ask how you might take coffee, but Dean knew from the way Cas’s arms settled around him that Cas was being serious. He didn't raise his head.

“Do you?”

“I think it would be a good idea.” Cas’s voice was a comforting rumble in Dean’s ear. “If something happened to me, I'd like you to be the one making my medical decisions. And I want to make sure you're taken care of.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. “Do you want to do a whole wedding or keep it small?”

“Something here at the house might be nice.”

“I’d like that.” He rubbed his cheek against Cas’s chest. “Are you thinking this year?”

Cas pushed up on an elbow, his expression wondrous, and Dean propped his chin on Cas’s sternum to look at him. “You’d really marry me?” Cas asked.

Dean screwed up his face and studied the ceiling. “Well, you're pretty cute, so…’course I’ll marry you, dork.” Laughing, Cas rolled them so their positions were reversed, and Dean stared up into his eyes. “I wouldn't have to change my name, right? Or hyphenate it?”

“Not unless you want to,” Cas said fondly. “But I would like to change mine.”

“To what, Castiel James Winchester-Novak? You’ll sound like a one-man law firm.”

Cas brushed a finger over Dean’s lips. “I don't want to hyphenate it. I’ve wasted enough years trying to be what my father expected.”

It was a moment before Dean understood. He stilled his thumb on Cas’s cheek. “So…just Winchester?”

“I think Castiel Winchester has a nice ring to it.”

After that, Dean had to kiss him for a while, until he could think past his euphoria. Not two years ago, he’d loathed Castiel and would’ve happily thrown a right hook at the jaw he was presently lavishing with kisses. Now that they’d gotten past their misunderstandings, Dean couldn’t conceive of a life without him. He’d never been so completely, so perfectly and incandescently happy. But if Cas was going to make an honest man of him, and he of Cas in return, there was something he really ought to do.

“Cas?” he whispered. “Baby?”

“Hm?” Cas hummed contentedly against his lips.

“You might as well open the nightstand and take out the box in there.”

“What box?” Cas sat up, straddling Dean’s hips, and opened the drawer. The box was black. Cas placed it on Dean’s chest and raised an eyebrow.

“You kinda beat me to the question,” Dean said, trailing his hands over Castiel’s thighs. “I was gonna ask you later tonight.”

“Ask me now,” Cas blurted.

“It's kind of redundant at this point.”

“I don't care.” Cas was beaming. “Ask me anyway.”

Dean cracked open the box, turning it so the ring faced Cas: a simple silver band with their initials engraved inside. “What d’you say we tie the knot?”

Cas’s face was a rainbow of emotions—joy and disbelief and love. Mostly love. He kissed Dean and slid the ring onto his finger. With their hands linked, Dean felt the press of metal every time he squeezed. The alarm went off, but he muted it in favor of kissing Castiel, of kissing his fiancé, of murmuring Cas’s name against his lips and hearing _Dean, Dean, Dean_ in return.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I didn't have any reference photos or maps for this fic, but there's an early version of part one [on tumblr](http://www.museaway.com/tagged/pride%20and%20prejudice%20au) if you're curious! And now back to furiously writing something for Dean/Cas Tropefest. If you're on twitter, [come say hi](https://twitter.com/museawayfic)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Upstart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439972) by [archeolatry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry)




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